


Star Wars Sexytime One-Shots

by Penjaculations



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Gender/name not used for reader, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, honestly i just tried to keep things as up-to-the-reader as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penjaculations/pseuds/Penjaculations
Summary: Just a series of reader-insert one-shots I decided I'm going to try working on, featuring characters from the Star Wars universe.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Star Wars Sexytime One-Shots

“Where the kriff did you find that? Thought I tossed all of Fortuna’s old filth out.” Fett’s voice has a faint note of awe to it, and you chuckle lightly and turn, canting your hips from side to side in the closest mockery of a slave dancer’s moves.

“Guess you must have missed a few things,” you reply, laughing again and striding toward where he sits on his throne. You knew Fett had a weakness for a pretty body in an even prettier outfit, and the dancers had always drawn his attention, even in his youth. You’d teased him for it, once upon a time, but you think now you understood the appeal.

The outfit doesn’t leave much to the imagination, which is precisely why you’d snagged a few of them during your exploration of the palace’s old storage rooms. They’d been hidden away for the perfect opportunity and today had seemed like a good time to test one of them out.

Fennec would be away for a while, off on an errand in the city, and Fett had no visitors in the palace, which meant you had the throne room to yourselves for a while. Things had lined up rather perfectly, and judging by the hungry look on Boba’s face it’s clear he thinks so too.

He watches you a moment longer, then lifts a gloved hand and makes a pointed come-hither motion with one finger, patting his thigh with the other hand. A clear invitation, and one you are quick to accept, surging even closer and straddling his lap with a sly glint in your eyes.

“You still think this is Fortuna’s old filth?” The question is a tease that earns a small _tsk_ from the imposing man beneath you, and he lifts a hand to gently cup your cheek.

“Not when you wear it,” his voice is breathy, accent even thicker than usual, and though you’re still smiling you have to swallow hard to hide the shudder it threatens to bring forth. You were always taught as a child not to play with your food, but you aren’t a child anymore and Fett is so _very fun_ to play with. You’re definitely not done playing yet, even as he leans back to appraise the skimpy fabric and the way it’s cascading over your legs.

Clearly, he isn’t going to make things easy, but that was just how you liked it.

You shift slightly, sliding one leg between his knees- a gentle nudge to widen the space between them- and then you’re straddling one muscled thigh, your hands resting tenderly on the edges of his breastplate. A deliberate motion is made, on your part, and you meet his eyes pointedly as you rock against your perch. His gaze is dark and simmering with want, and the unadulterated honesty of it sends a wave of heat coiling in your stomach. Unable to help it, you suck in a sharp intake of breath, almost a gasp.

His hands, still gloved, roam over every inch of exposed skin he can reach before finally settling on your waist, assisting you in your ministrations. His grip is maddeningly firm, forcing your movements to be slow and measured. _Torturous_ , even. You can feel a whine building in your throat but you hold it back. Can’t have him thinking he’s won, after all, but, Maker, it’s so hard not to just give in completely and let him have full control.

Your hands slide up, turning to fists and gripping tightly to the fabric at his collar as you double down on your efforts. Your knee shifts, brushing against the bulge in his trousers almost unintentionally, and he groans as his grip loosens enough for you to rut against his leg with just a little more force behind the movement, a little more speed.

A pleased grin slides across your face for a moment, and then you allow yourself to get lost in the feeling, eyes drifting closed as you cling to him and let out a needy sound of your own. You can feel that familiar build-up getting closer and closer, and you chase the feeling with renewed vigor. Boba takes to running his hands over you again, muttering little appreciative phrases and endearments in Mando’a that you aren’t coherent enough to mentally translate.

The feeling reaches a tipping point, and you’re so lost you’re barely aware of how you must look, how you sound. Then, suddenly, Boba’s hands are back on your waist and firm once more, pinning you in place. You wiggle helplessly- you were so close!- but his grip is like beskar, hard and unyielding. Your eyes fly open in confused shock, a whine slipping out before you can do anything to stop it as you feel your release fall from your grasp.

Fett is smug beneath you like a lothcat got into the cream, and his thumbs rub small circles into your skin as your breathing evens out. The most you can do is pout in the face of how easily he turned this entire thing on its head with barely any effort used at all.

You huff and Boba laughs, a deep from-the-belly sort of laugh, pulling you into an embrace that has you ducking your head to press a flushed cheek against the cool metal of his armor. And here you’d thought you were the one playing with your food.

“If you want to get off, _little one_ , you’re going to have to beg for it. You know the rules.” Now his voice is teasing, and you lift your head to glower at him.

“Why should I beg when you’re being so mean to me?” You ask instead, huffing once more. Boba simply chuckles again, then pulls you into a kiss that has you panting, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You whine again as he pulls away, leaning in to claim his mouth for yourself, and he must be feeling generous because he lets you, kissing back with the same feverish energy.

“Because I can be nice too, sometimes,” he mumbles, pulling away to catch his breath. His grip on your waist eases up just enough for you to instinctively start moving again, and he allows it for a few minutes, letting you get yourself worked up again, only to bring you to a sudden stop once more.

This time you let out an angry little sound, nearly growling in your frustration. You can feel tears pricking at the edge of your eyes but you will them away, glaring daggers at him instead. Desire and want are coiling deep inside you and the ache of it is almost unbearably painful in a way that’s strangely exquisite. You realize with a shocking moment of clarity that you’re so _wrecked_ for him that you’re enjoying this awful game of start and go.

“Come now, use your words. Tell me how badly you want it.” His tone is shockingly gentle considering the circumstance. And you, stubborn as ever, only press your lips tighter together, refusing to give in just yet even though you know you’re only prolonging the inevitable. “ _Atin_ ,” he mutters, fondness leaking into his voice. You stick your tongue out and he laughs again.

“I don’t _beg_ ,” you insist, even though you both know it’s a bald-faced lie. He stares you down with a raised brow, keeping you agonizingly still, and the frustration builds until you know you have no choice but to concede, stubborn demeanor falling flat in the face of his calm authority. Another moment passes, and then you heave out a sigh, the first to drop your eyes. “Please?”

It’s not what he wants and you know it, and you know he knows you know it, but he also knows you have to be goaded into these things and he’s more than prepared.

“Convince me, _cyar'ika_.” His voice is quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument. He releases his grip just slightly, but instead of immediately moving you hold yourself still, biting your lip with the effort it takes. A sudden grin spreads on Boba’s face, as if he’s impressed.

“Good job, _ad’ika_ , you’re learning. Go on, then, you know what to do.” You feel your face heat up at the praise, but it’s enough to spur you on so you wiggle slightly, getting just a little bit of needed friction before you speak again.

“Please let me, Boba, I promise I’ll be good-” your voice cuts off as Fett moves your hips himself, making your breath rush out of you in a stuttering moan.

“Keep going.” 

You swallow thickly and nod, biting back another noise so you can speak, but still, there’s a waver to your voice you cannot hide. “I need it so bad, please, I’ll... I’ll do whatever you want. _Please_. I’ll be so good for you, you know I can.”

You can feel the pressure building again, and it aches something fierce, and you’re near sobbing in your need as Boba lifts one hand to wipe a stray tear from your cheek that you hadn’t realized had slipped out. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? You want to come, my love?” His voice is raspy and somehow deeper than usual, dripping with desire, and you nod eagerly, biting your lip as you moan again.

“ _Maker_ , yes.”

“Good. Come for me, _cyar'ika_ , let me hear you.”

At his words, release rips through you and you cry out, hips stuttering against his thigh as you ride it out. Your arms move to wrap around his neck, clinging to him. A weak laugh bubbles out of you and you kiss into his neck, and he hums out a pleased noise.

“You don’t disappoint, my dear, I knew you could do it. How do you feel?”

You make a noncommittal noise, settling comfortably against his chest in a hazy sort of post-orgasm bliss, but he pats your cheek gently until he knows he has your full attention, his other hand rubbing soothingly against your back.

“Are you alright, was that good for you? I didn’t go too far, did I?” There’s concern in his voice, and in his dark eyes, and he holds you so gently you could almost weep from the overwhelmingly genuine demeanor he’s suddenly giving off.

“Yes, that was perfect. _You_ were perfect.” His grin is instantaneous and wide, brimming with an affection you can scarcely believe is actually meant for you, and your heart swells. A chaste kiss, so innocent compared to your earlier ones, is placed upon his cheek, and he moves to press his forehead to yours.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Atin - [ah-TEEN] - stubborn, tenacious, capable of endurance  
> Cyar'ika - [shar-EE-kah] - darling, sweetheart  
> Ad’ika - [ah-DEE-kah] - little one, son, daughter, of any age - also used informally to adults much like *lads* or *guys*  
> Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] - colloquial: "I love you." (lit: "I know you forever.")


End file.
